


when the days are cold (and the cards all fold)

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [20]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, M/M, gymnastics AU, overcoming obstacles edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: In which Daichi finds Suga on the high bar after a long, long day.





	when the days are cold (and the cards all fold)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 3: Fan Soundtracks | [originally posted here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13156933#cmt13156933)
> 
> soundtrack:  
> [imagine dragons - demons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWRsgZuwf_8)  
> [andra day - rise up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwgr_IMeEgA)  
> [idina menzel - defying gravity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MslDnwerQRA)

Daichi pauses by the door, one hand on the switch. It’s dark inside the gym, save for the lone halogen light flickering overhead by the high bar. Suga’s duffel is unzipped, open on the bench. It’s covered in chalk dust and fraying at the edges. There’s a patch sewn over one threadbare spot, a floppy-eared grey bunny that Daichi had thought suited Suga when he first met him; now, he finds it incongruously cutesy.  
  
He had asked him about it, once, and Suga had flashed him an innocent, wide-eyed grin.  _What, you don’t think I’m that cute?_  
  
_No,_  Daichi had said, straight-faced.  _I really don’t—_  
  
And Suga, indignant, socked him in the ribs before he could continue. His laughter was a rippling peal that tickled warmly at the shell of your ear. It made even Kurokawa- _senpai_  turn to look.  
  
Daichi bides his time, watches Suga’s patient revolutions. As he swings into a pirouette, Daichi spots the hesitant wobble at the top, probably before Suga realises it himself. The next second, he’s tumbling awkwardly off the bar, and Daichi turns on the rest of the lights and walks over.  
  
“I was waiting for you,” he says.   
  
Suga smiles, unrepentant. “Guilty as charged.”  
  
Daichi sits down on the crash mat. Suga picks himself up and scoots across to join him. He stretches his legs out, folds forward with a groan. His forehead barely grazes his knee.  
  
“Your back’s all tight,” Daichi remarks.  
  
“I know. Did you see my dismount?”  
  
“Your dismount is fine—”  
  
“Did you  _see_  my dismount, Daichi?”  
  
“I’ve seen your dismount so many times. It’s fine,” Daichi finishes. “You need to stop overthinking things.”  
  
Suga’s retort is muffled, bent over like this. “You keep saying that.”  
  
“That’s because you keep doing it,” Daichi says.  
  
He leans back, watches Suga exhale and sink deeper into the stretch. In regular practice, he’d close the arm’s-length distance between them, press his hands into Suga’s shoulders as gently as he remembers. Often, not gentle enough, but Suga never warns him off; he’ll grit his teeth and take the ache and when he straightens there won’t be tears pricking his eyes or anything like that, only fists clenched and knuckle marks denting the mat and that smile, that smile.  
  
It makes Daichi want to push harder, to dig his bruised heels in. It makes him forget how sore he is. It reminds him how high the ceiling is, how blinding, the floodlights, and at the end of it all, how sweet the sting of a perfectly stuck landing.  
  
But this is not regular practice, and they shouldn’t even be here. They’ve peeled the tape off their fingers, their ankles. Their day lies worn and tattered like strips of ribbons on the floor.   
  
A pale wind drifts in through the half-open door, ruffling the hair at the nape of Suga’s neck. Daichi can still see the beads of sweat there.  
  
He waits for Suga’s breathing to slow down, settle, waits for him to sit up again and unwind, relax. The silence hangs between them like an old blanket, the kind that’s softer where the colour’s faded.   
  
Suga inches over and leans to rest his head on Daichi’s shoulder. His sigh is a quiet letting go, regrets and cuts and scrapes and all.   
  
“I guess there’s always the next competition, huh?”  
  
Daichi nods.   
  
“There’s always tomorrow,” he says. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.


End file.
